Monday, 25 January 2016
Poem 2016 / 20
Forget-me-nots reminded her of Aunt May
and ants in a terraced garden on Sunday afternoons.
A glass of orange squash and tea for Dad
in the antique china heirloom cups
with roses on the side. Not a real aunt,
the lady who lived next door when Dad was growing up,
living in Bromsgrove now in her mother's house
with the heavy tapestry curtains and the carriage clock
ticking away the minutes until school;
the heady scent of floor polish and beeswax;
embroidered antimacassars and tablecloths.
Her dad's cigarettes left smoke in layers around the ceiling
and Aunt May talked about people she hadn't known
and places she'd never heard of;
memory photographs with no shared connection
leaving blank spaces to be filled
with coloured pencils or chalk
on the paving slabs where the ants danced
on Sunday Afternoons.
© Rachel Green 2016